


Hurt Slash Comfort That Is Not The Trope That Is The Name Of The Piece

by witchway



Series: Xander On The Menu [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 5 - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Buffy Dies... sadly, Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant - until it isn't, Episode: s05e18 Intervention, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: After Intervention (season 5) Spike is in a lot of pain.As in Might-Very-Well-Just-Die pain.This work is canon-compliant, except when it isn't.Because, while Buffy agreed that Spike SHOULD be rewarded for his heroic sacrifice, she did NOT come to his crypt to reward him with a kiss.Xander came instead.And then things got VERY interesting...
Relationships: Spander, Spike/Xander, Spike/Xander Harris, Xander Harris/Spike
Series: Xander On The Menu [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2151750
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	1. Why He Did It

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completed work.
> 
> Ah... Livejournal... you beautiful lovely fated website.
> 
> But you don't want to read it there - you want to read it here.
> 
> It will be updated every day. Subscribe so you don't miss a thing.

\---

\---

**Hurt Slash Comfort**

**That Is Not The Trope**

**That Is The Title**

**Of The Piece**

**\------**

  
  
No one, not the slayer, not the books, not his 1000-year-old demon honey, NO ONE could remember seeing a vampire bearing that many bruises. No one had seen anyone (sorry, any VAMPIRE) walking around with that much damage.

Because there wasn't any point, right? If you wanted a vampire dead, you put wood through his heart = dust. Or you could cut his head off, and THEN = dust. But if you broke all his bones, punctured a few vital organs, well......what then?  
  
They were all glad the real Buffy was back. They were all glad Dawn was (for a while) safe from Glory. They were all making dirty jokes about the robot.  
  
They were all pretending that the world wasn't getting weirder by the hour -- pretending that Dawn was just a regular (if really moody) teenager, pretending Joyce was still alive and providing hot coco, pretending their enemy was only a type of demon and not a God.  
  
It was that -- the fact that they were all **So Busily Pretending** that spurred Xander on to action.  
  
Life kept getting weirder, the world was probably ending, and Xander decided to bring a thank-you present to Spike.

Given the circumstances, bringing Spike a thank-you present it wasn't the weirdest thing about the week.  
  
It was the practical kind of gift -- the kind that might keep him from dying from his wounds and waking up dust. While Xander had been right behind Buffy on the "Find Spike and Kill Him" run, the actual *idea* of Spike REALLY being dead was just disturbing. Joyce had blown his mind by leaving and never coming back. Spike; scarred-eyebrow, head-tilting, devil-may-care-oh-wait-I-AM-the-devil attitude....... Spike COULD have been dead.  
  
Spike could actually be dying in a cemetery somewhere.....

  
......and suddenly, in the Life Getting-Weird World, Xander providing Spike with human blood seemed perfectly sane.  
  
It was Sunday night. If Spike was still alive Monday night, Xander would give him a "thank you" present.  
  
Taking two sizeable bags of human blood away from Sunnydale hospital was a lot easier than a person would think -- provided, of course, it was during the day, you flirted heavily with the old nurse in the second floor and you were willing to fork of a LOT of hundred dollar bills. (But who needs a savings account when the world is about to end?) Armed with the snack (hopefully 2 bags was enough, but Xander couldn't afford more) of O Negative (do vampires have a preference?) Xander walked up to the Vampire's crypt as soon as the sun went down.  
  
And took a deep breath. And started to knock. Then stopped and took ANOTHER deep breath, and then told himself he was being retarded and finally got up the courage TO knock. (Why was this so much easier when you're pissed?)  
  
There was no Spike above, so Xander looked below. There, in the icy ground, by the light of a single candle he found a nearly naked Spike, wearing the same black pants as the day before and......a large slab of what might have been steak.  
  
Xander stood at the side of Spike's bed, looking at the meat in confusion.  
  
Then he turned to light more candles. The Vampire woke, but Xander ignored his questions until the room was better lit. Finally he turned to ask (in a clever, sarcastic, humorous way) about the slab of steak on Spike's chest....  
  
....the sight of the Vampire in the candlelight took his breath away. The bruises they had seen on that day were only the beginning. More had formed, and they were gruesome. The huge puncture wound above his nipple hadn't scabbed over at all -- it looked as fresh as if it had occurred an hour ago. The right side of the Vampire's bare chest sported an ugly, multi-colored bruise the size of Xander's hand.  
  
But said Vampire was still looking at him for an explanation, so Xander puffed up his chest and said the line he had *planned* to start with......  
  
"I just need to know one thing. Did you do this for Dawn? Or was this all impress Buffy?" (As if it mattered? The money was spent. He had all ready Seen Spike. And not to mention -- Life was Weird.)  
  
Spike looked away in disgust, and for a moment, it appeared that he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he said "I did it for Joyce."  
  
Xander opened his mouth, but what was supposed to come out, who could tell?  
  
"I did it" Spike wheezed (and his voice was frightenly weak) "because Joyce shouldn't have died like that. It wasn't right that her Little Bit should die too. And I did it for Little Bit, I guess. Couldn't bare the thought of ...... and Buffy. Buffy couldn't bare it, either."  
  
Xander was sure there had been something else he had planned to say, something clever and biting, but it was gone now. Spike, it seemed, had also noticed how Weird the World was getting. So Xander was content to put the paper bag on the bed and bring out the two small bags of blood.  
  
"What's this?" Spike gasped.  
  
"A thank-you gift."  
  
"It's human?!?" Spike managed, trying to rise, but failing.  
  
  


  


  
  
  


  
  
"Yes, I went to a lot of trouble to get it and _what_ is wrong with you? Why are you wheezing...I thought vampires didn't have to breathe."  
  
"Speaking" he whispered again (and it was chilling to hear him sound so weak) "Requires air, Harris. Air ..... requires lungs. This one," he pointed to his bruised right side, "Still working. This one" and here he removed the slab of meat, "quit last night."  
  
Xander blanched at the sight, almost turning away in disgust. The large bruise on Spike's right side looked minor compared the gruesome rainbow covering the left side of his pale body. Unhealthy purples and browns faded to downright _black_ , and Xander fought off a wave of nausia. He was looking at flesh so damaged, even the demon animating the dead man couldn't keep it alive.  
  
"But....." and now it was Xander that was whispering, "but you'll heal, right? You'll be all vampirical and magical and......better?"  
  
Spike shook his head. "Not without human blood." Xander gestured weakly with the hospital bags. "Thanks, love. But healing blood......it has to be fresh. The heart.....still beating. This lady," he pointed to the first bag, "gave this lot up 2 weeks ago. 'Salready going bad. And this bloke," he gestured at the second bag "died last week."  
  
"Well then, I'll just take them back," Xander managed, but his words were weak and without malice. Any sarcasm he could have mustered was lost. It had been lost in the almost audible whirling of his brain: Spike's sacrifice, Gods walking the earth, Vampires with gangrene, bags of blood telling their own personal stories......all in all, World Getting Weird.  
  
He didn't wait for Spike to ask, he simply pulled out his pocket knife and cut a small corner of the plastic bag open, just as he had planned. ( _Holding_ the corner to Spike's lips he had _not_ planned on, nor did he remember planning on Spikes hands trembling, clutching his own.)  
  
But more than anything, he hadn't planned on the two tiny hospital bags full of blood disappearing so quickly, and seeming so very, very inadequate.  
  
When they were emptied Spike looked no different, but he *was* propped up on his elbows, and speaking better. His eyes followed Xander as the man clumsily put the minuscule empty bags back into the paper sack (bags so small he was almost embarrassed to throw them away) and turned to figure out what to say next.  
  
"You could make a donation, you know, just like those two blokes there. Just give me a little to help...." here Spike gestured at his wounded chest. "Just a little, you'll never miss it. Just go home and sleep it off and tomorrow you'll be fine."  
  
Xander opened his mouth, but found he had no words. No words at all.  
  
Were there some words in Latin, maybe, or Sanskrit or Greek for "The World's gotten so Damn Weird this actually makes sense?" He'd be sure to ask Giles someday. Instead, he shrugged off his jacket, tossed it aside, and started to unbutton the cuff of his sleeve.  
  
"No, love. It'll leave a bruise....they'll see." Spike was sitting up on the edge of the bed, not whispering at all. He put his hands on Xander's hands like before, then looked up at the boy with sly eyes. "Just take off your shirt."


	2. The Bloodclaim/The First Feeding

**Warning** Bloodplay. Well, it isn't REALLY bloodplay, since, hello, Spike IS a vampire, right? For him it's like NORMALplay.

Having Spike suck his blood wasn't nearly as sensual experience as he had thought (not that he WANTED it to be sensual, and NOT that he had actually THOUGHT about it, no, not at ALL.) Having heard from Buffy and Anya about human ghouls, Vampire-groupies who let their vampires do these things on a regular basis, Xander expected SOMETHING more interesting than feeling Spike's mouth give him a slow, leisurely, VERY ineffective hickey.  
  
Spike's HANDS, however, were a whole different story. As Xander lay on his back with the Vampire's naked, damaged (but still, naked!) body laying on top of bare chest, the Vampire's cool lips attached to a wound he (well, they) had made just over Xander's right nipple, well, you'd THINK that Xander might be distracted by something OTHER than Spike's HANDS...but there it was. Cool hands on Xander's arms, on his back, almost lifting him up to drink from him as if from a holy grail ... fingers sometimes creeping up to the wound and caressing his chest, or sneaking up to brush his face or cup his cheek, then back to clutch his arms and draw him closer.  
  
What do to with XANDER'S hands, however, was a big problem. He didn't want to be touching Spike's slim back or his muscled shoulders or (god forbid) holding the blond's head, while all the time murmuring....excuse me, NOT murmuring, SAYING VERY FRANKLY, "yes, Spike, yes."  
  
Because he had to agree to the feeding.  
  
More than once.  
  
Otherwise (Spike said) the chip would engage and cause him terrible pain, thus Xander couldn't JUST say "I, Alexander Harris, 22 years of age and lifetime resident of Sunnydale California also known as Weirdworld, give you, William the Bloody, permission to suck my blood" only once. He had to (Spike insisted!) keep saying it over and over.  
  
And so, for a good ten minutes or more, Xander lay in the vampire's bed (did I mention the World was getting Weird?) watching the crypt's walls flicker by the light of two guttering candles (Xander had blown all the rest out before working up the nerve to take his shirt off) letting Spike lay barechested on top of him, sucking at the small wound they had made together with Xander's pocket knife, saying (NOT murmuring!) "Yes, Spike, yes" and NOT putting his hands on Spike's back, arms, or head.  
  
It was strange, awkward, and slightly boring.  
  
So it was with little difficulty that Xander looked him in the eye when he raised his (still human?) head.  
  
"Ow.....ow.......OW!" Xander protested as Spike placed two fingers on top of the wound and pressed down hard.  
  
"Sorry, love, stopping the bleeding there."  
  
"Why doesn't THAT set off your chip?"  
  
"Because I'm HELPING you, love, even though it pinches......what?"  
  
Xander was looking into Spike's face with gratitude -- the hideous purples and browns that had covered half of his face in a gruesome mask seemed to be fading.  
  
"Nothing....I'm just surprised you're not a little more.....fangy."  
  
"Doing that on purpose, love. Got to stay calm. So I can be gentle." the Vampire said with a grin that Xander could have done without. "Are we finished yet?" Xander whimpered, hiding behind clenched eyes, knowing the answer.  
  
"Not yet, love. That was just the first bite. Now, comes the second. Hold on for the ride." Spike took Xander's hand, the one still holding his pocket knife, and guided it to a specific spot in the center of his chest. Guiding his fingers, Spike pushed down as he had the first time, so that it was Xander who actually made the cuts. Then, just as before, Spike waited, panting (as Xander focused on a corner of the ceiling and tried to remember why he had agreed to this!) as the blood flowed for a bit before he started.  
  
It was the same motions as before, but something felt radically different now. Quite suddenly Xander could feel his heart hammering, and his chest growing strangely warm in the cold room, the tiny streams of blood unnaturally hot against his skin, his nipples painfully erect. His face was flushing furiously. "Something's wrong...Spike! Something's...."  
  
"Let it happen, pet" Spike whispered before he dove in, lapping up the trickle of blood with a tongue that felt razor-sharp on the hot skin that caused Xander to cry out. Taking Spike's arms in his hands he tried to push the vampire away, but Spike's searingly cold mouth was locked onto his chest, and Spike's hands were planted on Xander's back, pulling Xander towards him fiercely. For several moments they fought like this, with Xander crying out in words that weren't exactly English....yet somehow Spike's chip didn't protest at all.  
  
When it was over Spike pulled back, panting. "What the hell, what the HELL??" Xander gasped out as the vampire clutched at his bruised ribs, wincing slightly.  
  
"It's the bloodclaim, love." he panted, speaking quickly. "Don't be afraid. It's supposed to feel good." He took his hands from his ribcage and pressed two fingers against Xander's wound to close it, then worked busily as Xander tried to hide his face beneath his arms, tried to catch his breath, tried to quiet his hammering heart. "The blood from a mortal heart" Spike told him, "...still beating. Can't you feel it? Your blood is in me now. Blood calls to blood, and it only get's better from here."  
  
"Are you saying that WHOA!" Xander shouted when he realized that Spike had undone his belt, and his zipper, and was apparently in the process of pulling down his jeans.  
  
"Relax, pet, just try to ... AHHHHHH!" Spike stopped and bent over, clutching his bruised ribs again, as if trying to hold them inside.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"It's all right love," Spike gasped, eyes clenched. "It's your blood inside me. I can feel the bones mending."  
  
"And that hurts?"  
  
"It burns," Spike said. "Don't mind it." He opened his eyes again. Xander had stopped fighting for control of his jeans, and Spike took the advantage and hauled them down suddenly.  
  
"'Sallright, 'sallright love" Spike soothed. His voice was calm but his hands were unmovable, holding Xander's jeans down just below the band of his boxers despite all of the boy's attempts to pull them back up. "It's almost over.....look, look! Here." Spike put two fingers right above the band of Xander's boxers to show him the last spot. When Xander relaxed for a second Spike found the pocket knife, put it in Xander's hand had positioned the blade before Xander had a chance to think. "This is the third bite," Spike whispered, and chills covered Xander's chest. His entire body seemed to pulse.  
  
Spike grinned. "Now it gets really interesting."


	3. Exit Stage Left

All in all, Alexander Harris was sure that he had handled the third bite in a very manly fashion. If there had been moaning, or maybe calling out Spike's name, or possibly some clutching of Captain Peroxide's blond head and pressing it against his lower torso while Spike's strong hands lifted him up by his ass and drank as if his life depended on it, well, Xander was sure it had been very Manly Moaning. It was only when Xander realized that he had a pounding erection, and that the very tip of it was pounding against Spike's chin, and dear God, were Spike's hands actually on his ASS?? It was only then that Xander called the whole thing to a halt.  
  
Scooting off of the bed and yanking up his pants with shaking hands and searching, shaking, for his shirt, Xander waited for the Vampire to say something snarky, but Spike was only laying on his back, panting. In the silence, Xander found himself babbling. "Ok, done, we're finished, that was your thankyou gift, no more bloodletting, or whatever you call it. Yes. Quite done now. Hope that's enough for your ribcage and all....yes, quite finished now. Thank you for taking a beating for Dawn, yes, quite finished now. I'll be going now, yes, thank you."  
  
He heard a low chuckle and turned to see Spike smiling peacefully. The vampire reached out to brush fingers against Xander's chest, as he said "Put ice on those bruises when you get home, love. No one will notice, that way. Drink plenty of water and eat your green vegetables. If you get lots of rest you'll be just fine when you come back Sunday..."  
  
"WHAT? No....NO coming back Sunday. This was a one-time thing, thank you, and if you ever tell anyone about it,"  
  
"You'll stake me and sweep up the remains into the dustpan, yes, I've heard it all before, pet." Spike purred, his eyes closed, his bruised face looking much, MUCH too happy.  
  
"This was a one-time thing."  
  
"Anything you say, love." Then.. "Don't forget to eat your greens!" he called out as Xander ascended and left the crypt, never to return again. Oh yes, Xander was going home now.  
  
And he did go home.  
  
And descended straight into hell.


	4. Enter Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This lovely story, which I hope you are enjoying, was written waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back in the oooooooooooooold days of Live Journal. Ah... memories. 
> 
> Speaking of memories, these fantasies are all about stories that I had been reading myself while I was writing my epic. And - JOY OF JOYS - I found links to those same stories that still work!
> 
> The Sacred Texts!! Enjoy them.

**Warning** Bloodplay. And fantasies that will lead you to links to other Spanders that will REALLY distract you the way they distracted me.

Xander spent a sleepless night trying to secretly keep ice on his wounds and drink lots of water and rest. He managed to drink lots of water. But touching the bruised places made him horny, damnit, and the ice just made it worse. Rest eluded him. He had jacked off in the shower (hoping the sound of the water had drowned out the sound of the name he was calling) but to no avail.  
  
Every time he closed his eyes he could see them together…..him and Spike. Exchanging barbs in Xander’s basement. Exchanging blows in a fight. Getting naked in Spike’s bed……  
  
Xander desperately wanted a strong drink (but no alcohol, just water, to recover the blood in 48 hours so he could, no, NO, he was NOT going back) but settled for cold medication and made another go at sleep. So what if all his dreams were about Spike and fighting matches that turned into biting and licking and serious snogging and righteous shagging…..what of it? Dreams were just that – dreams. Baring a visit from the Original Slayer, no one would ever have to know what Xander was dreaming about. Or the wet dreams that left him furtively washing the sheets in the morning.  
  
But the next day was only worse.  
  
Life was hell. Buffy was trying to get him to talk to her about the Dawn situation, asking his advice. Should she drop some of her classes? One? All?  
  
But Xander’s brain was Full of Spike. Spike being _gentle_ (oh GOD that smile) and the breathless way he had told him to “hang on for the ride.”  
  
THEN Buffy was calling on the phone, swearing and trying to decide what to do about Dawn skipping classes, and what if DHS came and took her? Buffy’s voice was trembling, and Anya was giving her advice, but Xander was trying to find a way to be alone to enjoy a sudden fantasy – Spike coming to him for comfort when they lived together in his basement. Spike needing comfort, and _getting_ it, lots of it, in the form of a slow, sweet seduction that lasted over the course of a year and ended up on a cruise ship with a tender anniversary present…  
  
Hell was having NO control of his own brain. At the magic box, Buffy came in for comfort after dropping out of college. Xander managed to say something comforting before burying his head back in his comic book. But he had read the same damn page 5 times, and people were going to start asking questions.  
  
But his mind was trying to create a comic book hero that was him, Xander Harris, as a dashing Storm-god Lightning man who, having been hit by lightning twice, wore dark sunglasses and zoomed around on a motorcycle with Spike as his trusty sidekick, whom he seduced with long electrifying kisses….  
  
Hell was having no control. He had no control over his mind and almost none over his own body. He went to sleep that night (avoiding all contact with Anya, for fear she might see the marks) knowing, but no longer caring, that sleep would only be a dive into a deep sea of dark and bizarre fantasies. Fantasies Of Spike. (And he wasn’t disappointed. THIS night was a long, steamy dream in which he was TarXan and a wildman, strong, half-naked and ripped beyond belief, and convincing a badly sunburned blonde Englishman to come back to his hut for a date with himself, a mat and some coconut oil....)  
  
Bloody hell. He had no control over his mind, over his cock, he barely had any control over his hands.  
  
The next day he called in sick to work. He decided he needed to be available in case there was news about Glory, but the truth was he wanted to be alone in his apartment to daydream. Possibly in the shower, and possibly while jacking off again. But mostly he had to figure this out – if Glory were to attack right now, what would he do? Yell at her for hurting his vampire? Fight her? Compare bondage fantasies?  
  
He couldn’t go on like this. He needed to see Spike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL of the "fantasies" here are actual Fanfics that I enjoy.
> 
> "Tiny Smiles" and "And Now For Something Completely Different" by the amazing Sabershadowkat can still be found here:
> 
> http://www.sabershadowkat.com/buffy/XanSpike.html
> 
> And William and Tar-Xan of the Jungle, which was being written by Skargasm as I was writing my opus. Enjoy. 
> 
> https://skargasm.livejournal.com/14007.html#cutid1


	5. The Bloodclaim/The Second Feeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are now up to the episode Tough Love (Season 5.) 
> 
> Buffy will be hiding Dawn at Spike's crypt, and Willow is off to do very bad things... but Xander is far more focused on a certain vampire.
> 
> This work will be canon compliant... up until the very end because my readers, in those days, asked me for a happy ending
> 
> But right now, canon be canon. Come join our boys in the crypt and follow their adventures...

He had many, very sensible explanations for why he was there, but when he arrived at the crypt he got around to none of them.  
  
Spike was below, laying on his bed, fully dressed (thank god!) resting by candlelight. He stood and walked up to Xander, and seemed unperturbed when Xander took his head in both hands and examined his bruised face closely, frowning in disapproval. The lacerations were gone, but the bruises remained.  
  
Xander pressed on the bruises around the eyes, and when Spike winced, he let out a groan.  
  
“Why won't these _heal_?”  
  
“Because the worst damage was in here, love.” Spike took Xander’s hands in his own and placed them on his breastbone. “Because the bint hurt me the most right here.”  
  
“Glory hurt your heart??”  
  
“No, not my HEART you poof, my crushed ribcage! My serious puncture wound, you sodding nancyboy.”  
  
“YOU'RE the nancyboy" Xander started, but bit it back. (It had been HIS cock bumping up against SPIKE'S chin, not the otherway 'round, after all.)  
  
Instead, he simply took pulled off Spike’s shirt. Spike lifted his arms up like a child, and Xander tossed the black tee away casually.  
But there was nothing casual about the bruises he saw on the pale man’s ribs – still purple and orange and grey and still covering most of his body – not to mention the ugly puncture wound. “This doesn’t *look* healed.” “Oh, but it is,” Spike said, taking Xander’s hands and using them to illustrate. “M’ribs all reconnected and not sticking into my lungs at all. I can breathe now and everything – watch!” Like a child showing off Spike took a large gulp of air, then started coughing.  
  
Xander rolled his eyes. “THIS,” he said, gripping Spike’s arms and walking him backwards to the edge of the bed “Is why I’m here.” Then he lifted the weightless vampire up by his armpits and tossed him onto the bed in a very manfully (but playful) way.  
  
“You didn’t come back because you missed me?” Spike asked as Xander peeled off his shirt.  
  
“Ummm..........that would be a NO.”  
  
He tossed his shirt away and climbed, slowly, on top, maintaining eye contact as Spike crawled backwards on his elbows, until they were both stretched out cross-ways on the vampire’s bed, Xander hovering, full-length, over him.  
  
It was only after a minute (and a questioning look from Spike) that Xander realized he had no idea why he was doing it.  
  
But he covered well. He sat back on his heels (crotch safely away from Spike’s crotch, oh yes, no touching of manly parts there) and pulled out his pocketknife, opened the blade, and handed it over. With a look that said (hopefully) “I’m here to feed you, what else?” Spike accepted the knife with a smirk.  
  
Then Spike looked over Xander’s chest to look at the faded cuts from the feeding before – the fading bruise above his nipple, the one on the center of his chest. Spike reached for the waist of his jeans, as if to check the wound below, but Xander batted his hand away. “It’s FINE. Ice works wonders. Where’s this gonna be, then?”  
  
Spike gave him a wicked smile. “Lay down on your stomach,” he suggested, and Xander, eying him warily, complied.  
  
Laying right-ways on Spike’s bed in the dark, cool room, he suddenly felt achy and tired. He stretched out luxuriously, claiming a large section of bed, making it clear he was ready to take a nap. The large, stiff pillows were in his way, and with a growl he tossed them to the floor, and lay his head down on his hands.  
  
“Oi! Those are m’good pillows, wanker!”  
  
“What, your dumpster-diver pillows?”  
  
“Those are Bed, Bath and BEYOND, you nonce.”  
  
“Mmmm? How much did they cost.”  
  
“I nicked them. I’m bad. That’s what I do.”  
  
“Oooooh, the Big Bad is nicking girly-pillows, now….what? Oh, here.”  
  
He reached his hand around, awkwardly, to help Spike make the same cuts as before, three random diagonal cuts on his back, right under his left clavicle, then a fourth line connecting them. “Is this going to get weird, like last time?” he asked sleepily. There was something important he was supposed to ask Spike, it seemed, but here, in this safe, dark place, it didn’t feel important. Now, after two sleepless nights, the only important thing seemed to be closing his eyes and getting a little rest.  
  
“Not yet, love. This first one’s for me,” Spike said softly, “Just relax.” Then he began to feed.  
  
Relax? Xander laughed to himself. Nothing could be more relaxing than this. His hands were safely linked under his head (because he was sleeping, see?) and his eyes were safely closed (because he was sleeping, get it?) and his growing erection was happily and lazily hiding beneath him. And soon, the tired Slayerette wouldn’t be pretending to doze, he really would be asleep. And that was just perfect.  
  
He might have heard Spike speaking to him, might have noticed that the first bite was over and Spike was making the second cut, might have registered that Spike had made the small slashes himself on Xander’s side without help. But mostly he was asleep with a smile on his face. He was sinking into soft and simple and lovely dream. He was _driving in the desert with Spike, listening to the 80’s station and having a casual talk about Sid Vicious and Billy Idol and the “Captain Peroxide” look. Spike was just admitting how badly the hair-dye burned his scalp, while, in perfect dream-logic, Xander was suddenly understanding the obvious message hidden in “Rock the Cradle of Love.”  
  
Then Spike said something to him, and the tone of the dream changed. Xander’s skin was growing warm in the cold night air, and he asked Spike to repeat the statement. Seems like they were all lovers, those three, and it was a fact that made Xander quite suddenly, violently jealous. The hair on the back of his neck was raising, beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, gooseflesh broke out across his shoulders, and his tone became harsh. He pulled the car sharply off the road and turned it off, pulled the vampire on top of him and demanded a shag straightway.  
  
With an open-mouth grin Spike complied, using his unnatural Vampiric grace to turn the two of them around, so that Spike was underneath and Xander, with his pounding, urgent hard-on, was on top, and Spike was undulating beneath him, moaning and urging him on and calling his name and assuring him it would be *quite* cricket with him if Xander just came across his bedbathandbeyondbedsheets **RIGHT NOW**_  
  
Xander jerked awake. At the same time he felt Spike release him with a gasp. Just like before, the Vampire was panting and speaking quickly while Xander shivered and felt his whole body pulse. But his _cock_ was pulsing too, yes, his little friend who had been quite happy to shoot a load right into his pants, so when Spike tried to turn him over for the last bite Xander scampered away.  
  
“ _Please_ pet,” Spike was reaching out for him, trying to pull him into an calming embrace, but Xander kept backing away, his legs up, his knees together, desperately trying to conceal his embarrassment.  
  
Finally Spike grabbed the covers and yanked them towards him, dragging Xander to the edge of the bed and into his arms. “ _Please_ pet, I’m begging you. The third bite’s the most important to the bloodcl…”  
  
“NO, done, yes, quite done here” Xander was saying, finally shoving him aside to scoop up his shirt, turning his back to dress, vainly hoping the shirt was long enough to cover his terrible problem. If it didn't, he would never be able to face the babbling vampire.  
  
“Xan, please, you _can’t_ stop now, you can’t leave a bloke like this, it _hurts_ , **_please_** love,” Spike pleaded desperately, finally leaning his head against Xander’s, biting his shoulder gently through the fabric, slipping cold hands underneath his shirt onto the skin of his back, whimpering. Xander put firm hands on the vampire, as much to keep him from discoving his problem as to comfort him. “I _can’t._ CHRIST, Spike, what the hell is happening to me? You've got to tell me about the...........what? ” For Spike had gone ridged, his head pointed up. He seemed to be listening.  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
Spike didn’t answer, but found his shirt and dressed quickly, still looking up, intently listening. Finally he looked at Xander.  
  
“It’s Buffy and Little Bit.”  
  
Xander jumped, but Spike was strangely calm. He grabbed Xander by the arm and led him into a dark corner of the crypt that seemed to lead to a tunnel where Xander was completely blind. Spike took Xander’s left hand in his and placed it on an earthen wall.  
  
“Spike....”  
  
“Walk straight forward until you get to a ladder, and climb it. That will let out behind the Sanders crypt on the north edge of the cemetery, right by the road”  
  
“But…”  
  
“Get right home and ring up the others…..something’s gone wrong.”  
  
“But,”  
  
“GO, love.”  
  
“But is was that enough? Will that heal you??” Xander demanded, holding onto Spike, who grabbed both sides of his head and kissed him, hard, on the face.  
  
Then he was gone, and Xander was alone in darkness.


	6. Hell, Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are in the middle of "Tough Love," episode 19 season 5.
> 
> Tara is injured. Dawn has not yet been revealed as the key. The world is ending, and if it seems to you that Xander is hyperfocused on the wrong thing as the world ends... believe me when I say... sometimes that's what you do when the world ends.

The walk back to the real world through the pitch-black, earthen tunnel was not alarming at all, due to the fact that Xander was royally pissed.  
  
Buffy.  
  
Of _course_ it was Buffy. Because Spike hadn’t created a Xanderbot, had he? No, he created a Buffybot. He didn’t take all that damage to save the life of Xander’s little sister, no, he had done that for Buffy too. And OF COURSE Spike was obsessed with Buffy – with that impossibly beautiful face and incredible body and fancy-shampoo-commercial-hair.  
  
Damn Bloody Slayer.  
  
With his left hand on the rough-cut tunnel, almost running through the darkness, Xander was so angry he came across the ladder and almost ran passed it. A few steps backwards and he found it again, an ancient, wooden thing with an obvious opening above it.  
  
“So, this is how you disappear in and out of your crypt, Spike? You come here often? I think I’ll leave a calling-card,” and he took out his aching hard-on and jacked off. Maybe the blood-smeller might smell that too. Then, feeling satisfied, he ascended the old ladder and ran back to the hell that was his life.  
  
While he was obsessed worrying about Spike who may or may not have seen his excited state, (and what rude, clever comments he would make the next time they met) Glory was casually destroying Willow’s life.  
  
Tara was lost in her own head. Willow had transplanted herself at the hospital. Buffy was attached to Dawn at the hip. Anya was chanting up old demon friends to ask questions about Glory, and Xander was combing through all of the Watcher books to see if Spike was circumcised.  
  
Well, to be fair, he was looking for information on when Spike was transformed, which would tell him when Spike was born, which would tell him if circumcision was a standard medical practice at that time, which would tell him if his vision of Spike’s long, hard cock in his own hand was accurate.  
  
Because every time Xander closed his eyes, that’s what he saw. In his warm, tanned hand he held Spike’s smooth, white length, playing with the pale foreskin, because, of course, the Vampire would be uncut. _And the Vampire gave a mock groan, and chided him, calling him insatiable, claiming if they had sex one more time, Spike would have a heart-attack, and his heart wasn’t even beating! And wasn’t Xander just a_ little _sore by now? But Xander just grinned and continued to play with his Vampire.  
  
They were laying side by delicious side in Spike’s crypt (he could picture it so well, feel the chill, smell the damp) feeling lazy and content, and Xander, a little sleep-deprived and a lot bloodclaim-addled, was examining Spike’s cool member with fascination. They were laying forehead to forehead, dozing, almost at the edge of sleep, close but not touching, until Xander decided he _needed _to see what his lover’s white cock looked like in his human hand. Soon the tired Vampire was unwillingly growing hard_ again _, and when he stretched his head back to moan Xander reached forward to mouth the white Adam’s apple….._  
  
Oh yeah, THAT would happen.  
  
Fortunately everyone else was too busy with their personal issues to notice how useless Xander had become. Finally he found sanctuary running errands for an immobile Willow. Errands were good – he could drive around Sunnydale without thinking, his brain Full Of Spike, and maybe even stop the car at the edge of crowded parking lots to masturbate in a frustrated effort to clear his mind.  
  
THAT strategy worked – for a few hours. For a few hours Xander after each shameful release Xander could think clearly, outlining all the reasons Spike was obviously, unequivocally, a straight Vampire.  
  
There was, after all, Buffy. Then before that, Harmony, then before that, Drusilla. Each impossibly hot (if a little wacky) babes, and why not hot babes? This was **Spike** we were talking about – he couldn’t certainly have any babe he wanted. He was probably beating them off with a stick. Or just beating them off….after all, Spike had just about everything a girl would want; a chiseled body, a wicked bad-boy wardrobe, a killer open-mouth smile that was just _begging_ for someone to grab him by both sides of the head and bury their tongue into that cool mouth…  
  
This was ridiculous. First, because Xander wasn’t gay. Second, because SPIKE wasn’t gay, and if Xander decided he WAS gay, then what? He didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with another man, let alone a man as hot and experienced, and, well, Not-Human as Spike. And once Spike was done munching on Xander, he wouldn’t be interested in flabby, looser Xander anymore, especially if Buffy was around. Notice how fast he forgot about the former when the latter came around?  
  
The latter, the ladder, oh god. Xander had jizzed on the ladder as if marking it like some dog – would Spike notice? And even if Spike had missed his obvious excitement during their second feeding, he couldn’t have missed it the first time, it was bobbing up against Spike’s CHIN for godsakes.......  
  
..............come to think of it, Spike HAD to be aware of that, didn’t he? And if he was, why didn’t he say anything? Make a crass comment? In British slang? Surely there was a good, witty, quotable William The Bloody Biting Barb waiting for him the next time…..well, there had BEEN a next time, and William the Bloody hadn’t mention it.  
  
Was that because he didn’t mind? Because he didn’t notice? Because he was too helpless in the throes of the feeding to do the obvious and turn his head and receive the welcome guest into his mouth and show Xander his incredible appreciation, and now he was kicking himself for not doing just that? Xander had to pull the car over and sit in the library parking lot for a while to figure THAT one out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before the next chapter, ask yourself.
> 
> Do you remember LOL Cats?
> 
> If you don't, google it real quick. You're welcome.


	7. Hell, Night (featuring LOL Cat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander is strictly heterosexual. 
> 
> Spike has a chip in his head that prevents him from causing any human any pain at all, even the good kind.
> 
> These are both temporary problems.

Try to sleep. Count sheep. Sheep are safe. Ribs are not aching and the wound above your right nipple is not itching and you are sleeping……sleeping……worrying a little bit about....  
  
....your Vampire who _knows bloodclaim tricks like you have never imagined. After the rush of a feed, the Vampire whispers, just let me jerk you off. It will sending you on a high that might never end…..  
  
No,  
  
Because Spike has that mischievous devil-smile again, and is explaining that, if he can make you come first, __and_ then _feed, it will be a ride you will never forget.  
  
And **then** ….  
  
There are many strange objects on the side-table. Want a closer look? Spike presents you with an alabaster box with a wrought-iron lid. "Lover-come-lately?" he asks with a grin, which is either a name or a suggestion, it's hard to tell. The cream inside tingles on your fingertips, making them burn, then cool, then start to feel numb, but when Spike starts applying to your _nipples _interesting possibilities start to present themselves.  
  
And then…  
  
Lounge beside each other, lazily tracing random patterns on his white chest while he plays with your hair and quietly discussing, quite factually, the technical details of the rogering you've been dying for. It should be embarrassing, this conversation, but it isn't embarrassing. You're too relaxed to be embarrassed. You've never done it before, and he's done it many times, but there's one logistical problem..._

 _Now you're sitting on the edge of his bed next to the side table, completely nude, facing each other, discussing the dozens of ways you might try to get around the chip in Spike's head, and it's response to any kind of pain. Because the causing you pain, voluntary or otherwise, will set it off. "Sodding chip just doesn't know the difference" he is saying, "between good pain and bad...." Now he reaches for something long and white and apparently made of ivory, and he starts to tell you "You know, pet, in_ my _day....."_  
  
Wake up. Sit up. Knock fist into forehead over and over and over and then lay down again.  
  
Try to sleep.  
  
Remember how Spike was attached to that wound on the center of your chest (touch the sensitive spot, fingering the wound, touching it gently) his mouth was so hot against your chilled skin, and instead of _trying to hide your cock swelling against the fabric of your jeans, you press it into his flat stomach. He is laying complete on top of you, his mouth on the center on your chest, his own erection snuggling in between your legs. He moans as you press against him and wraps his arms around your waist greedily and holds on, and despite the fact that your hands are buried in his hair and you keep saying “Yes, Spike, yes” you are also_ shamelessly _rotating your hips, rhythmically pushing your cock against his bare skin, because you’re doing your best to distract him from taking care of himself because you're desperate for him to take care of **you**._  
  
Wake up. Scold self. You are officially a looser, and if Spike was interested in your flabby looser ass he would have propositioned you all ready.  
  
Close eyes. Try to sleep.  
  
Lip to lip, toe to toe, Spike’s body is cool and yours is warm and the cold, damp crypt is the safest place on earth. Spike is on top of you and you are _massaging his lean ass and he as laid his cold lips against your ear and what he whispers makes every inch of your body tingle. “I want to watch you come. I want to watch your face when you come.”_  
  
Wake up. Detest self. Really? THAT one was a lame as the Michael Jackson-Beat It-Video-Fantasy where you grab Spike by the back of his head, jerk it back roughly and kiss him hard on the mouth…  
  
OK, now you KNOW you’ve lost your mind, because you’ve never even SEEN that Michael Jackson video, because by the time you were a teenager Michael Jackson had all ready started to look like a burn victim.  
  
Try to sleep.  
  
 _You are at the Bronze, and Spike is watching you from the shadows and you KNOW he is, and it makes you hard, but you pretend to not know. You hit on every pretty girl, and a couple of guys, you do sexy dances on the dance floor with said girls (and one of said guys) and finally, when you can't take it anymore, you fix a predatory gaze on the hidden vampire and walk right up to him. You give him a head tilt towards the door that says "I'm leaving, care to follow?" He gives you the two-figured flipoff. You shrug, as if to say "Your loss." You leave. He follows.  
  
In the darkness of your bedroom, lip to lip, toe to toe, hands everywhere, and your mouth is on his and someone, not sure who, but **someone** whispers “I want to feel you inside me...” _  
  
Wake up. Get up. Go to window. Tap forehead against glass over and over and over and over while chanting “You’re not gay. You’re not gay. You’re a big poof, but you’re not _gay_.”  
  
And you’re not, really. That time with Larry didn’t count. Because you only agreed to it because the world was about to end. Because Larry was doing all the giving and you were doing all the receiving Because HALF of what Larry suggested scared you because it was, well, scary. And you know _why_ it was scary? Because YOU ARE NOT GAY. Touching and being touched is nice, especially when you are partners, partners in a fight, partners in crime. Caressing and being caressed, admiring and being admired, working together to pleasure another as much as they are pleasuring you, that’s all very nice when you are with someone you care about, and in what Bizzaroworld does SPIKE care about YOU??  
  
Well, he certainly doesn't CARE, but he might very well be _interested in your reactions, especially if he hand-cuffs you to his bed and no matter how much you bargain, threaten, or plead he is determined to watch your every facial expression as he performs the most perverse acts of sodomy upon your helpless....._  
  
Lack of sleep has officially made you insane. Try go to and getting some so you can stop insane-being.  
  
So you do. You go back to sleep. You drift into a dream, a real dream, a nonsensical dream, a strange-man-offering-you-cheese dream.  
 _You are Hot Shit at some sinister corporate office. Spike doesn’t call YOU pet, you call HIM pet, and he is, in a way. He’s a lot like a cat, and he speaks a lot like the cats on the internet speak. In your Hot-Shit sinister corporate office hangs a large portrait of your pet..._

__

_  
and you're trying to negotiate a contract, but the information is gone from your head and you can't recall what the contract says, and all you can think about is your pet and his bizarre LOLcat statements_

_  
......and you are on the phone and covering by complaining to some OTHER sinister business man about how your pet, just like a cat, keeps bringing you half-dead, half-eaten things and acting as if you should be pleased._  
  
And this makes absolutely no sense at all, but hey, at least you’re finally asleep!


	8. The Worst Part

Every time Xander jerked himself off, if happened. Every. Time. He was very aware of his face. His face, his demeanor, his body, the words he whispered... even the words _in his head_. A person only had so much control in said situation, obviously, but, still. He _tried_ to keep a controlled expression, or at least a very manly, sexy expression. (Except for the times that he was very much Just Showing Off. The one time he made love to Anya (in the dark, to hide the marks) he was Very Definitely Showing Off.)  
  
Because every time Xander came, **every single time** , he did so with the overwhelming sensation, no, with some strange **knowledge** that the Vampire was _watching_.


	9. The Bloodclaim - The Third Feeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the bloodclaim is revealed and important details are discovered.

He DID come back 48 hours later, but only because of Dawn.  
  
Tara had been deeply, fundamentally broken, and just thinking about it caused him pain. But Xander couldn’t fix that.  
  
The Powerful Witch Willow was suddenly frightened, helpless highschool Willow all over again. But Xander couldn’t fix that either.  
  
But when Dawn expressed guilt over Spike’s appearance, his broken, bashed-in face he had earned all for the sake of protecting her, Xander smiled.  
  
THAT he could fix.  
  
He had every intention of explaining his (very good!) reasons to Spike when he arrived at sundown, but he never got the chance.  
  
He knocked at the crypt door and entered, finding his bruised Vampire lounging moodily in the moldy overstuffed chair, staring blankly at a silent telly. His whole demeanor looked depressed, but when he saw Xander he beamed (a real smile, not a smirk, and completely free of malice, but Xander would have to figure that one out later) and stood to meet Xander in the middle of the room.  
  
Without speaking he started to unbutton Xander’s shirt from the center, examining the bruises he had left there. At the same time Xander pushed opened Spike’s unbuttoned black shirt and pulled the red tee out from the belt, raising it to the top of his ribcage and examining the ribs beneath. He sighed in relief. The Vampire’s face was still badly bruised, but his torso had healed considerably. He bent around to look at both sides of Spike’s lean body, saying “Good, good” (but he was talking about the healing wounds, not the alabaster angles, the smooth, lickable white skin and hard muscles and DONE WITH THIS THOUGHT NOW.)  
  
“It’s good, love,” Spike purred, “It’s _very_ good.” He had unbuttoned Xander’s shirt all the way and pulled on the waistband of his jeans, looking underneath at the bruised cuts there. Then he yanked off his own shirts and threw them to the floor. “Both lungs work fine. Can even smoke my fags, now.”  
  
“Smoking will kill you.”  
  
“I heard,” the Vampire grinned, leaning in closer and brushing the fading bruise in the center of Xander’s chest and over his right nipple. “Your lady-love notice these?”  
  
“I picked a fight with her yesterday morning and now I’m banished to the couch for a week.” Xander bragged, trying not to notice how natural, how RIGHT it felt to have Spike taking off his shirt and throwing into the pile of their discarded clothing. “Smart pet,” Spike said smiling, and, taking Xander’s hand, led him to the chair.  
  
“Here?” Xander asked (ok, squeaked) as he lowered himself into the mildewed chair, looking at the crypt door nervously, but was quickly distracted at the sight of Spike kneeling at his feet.  
  
“Do you have the knife?”  
  
Xander dug in his pockets of his (suddenly too-tight) jeans, pulled out the pocket knife and fumbled with it. When he finally got it open, Spike put a trembling hand over his, and positioned the blade over the back of Xander’s other hand. There he made the same little cuts as before, and waited for a moment to watch it bleed. On his knees, holding Xander’s right hand in both of his, he looked for a moment as if he were proposing marriage, except that, instead of looking longingly into Xander’s eyes he was staring raptly at the hand itself.  
  
Then, for a terrifying moment he _did_ look up into Xander’s eyes as he closed his mouth down on the wound. Xander breathlessly closed his eyes against the sight.  
  
They stayed in that position for a good ten minutes, and for Xander it was very much the same as before: weird, awkward and slightly boring. Xander stared off at the (unlocked!) crypt door. He absolutely did NOT look at painfully bruised face (and that reverently bowed head). He tucked his other hand under his leg (to avoid stroking those bruised cheeks or cupping said reverently bowed head) and waited.  
  
And wondered how Spike’s two hands could convey so much emotion. They were not moving, they were only holding onto his hand – clinging to it like a drowning man would cling onto a rope, (or, to be more exact, like a man dying of thirst would cling to the saving canteen.) A groom couldn’t hold onto his bride’s hand with more veneration than Spike held onto him now.  
  
Which, even in the World Gone Weird, made sense, so Xander ignored it. Instead he closed his eyes and laid back his head and tried to relax.  
  
It felt so damn _good_ to be here. It felt so damn good to be _here_ , the decision made, the stupid “should-I-or-shouldn’t-I” argument that had been beating up his brains for the past 48 hours. He was here, and there was nothing wrong with it. He was here, Spike would be healed, and that was all right.  
  
Until Spike lifted his lips, pinched closed the wound on the hand and set his eyes on the veins in the crook of his arm. Suddenly Alexander Harris’ head popped up. His lungs were empty, his throat was dry and his heart, as if eager to please the Vampire leaning against his knees, decided to pump blood at double-speed.  
  
Xander squeezed his eyes shut again (maybe, if I can’t see Spike, Spike can’t see me!) but they flew open again as the feel of cool fingers traced a sensitive spot higher, on his forearm. He opened his eyes to the sight of Spike, trembling, investigating a series of scrapes and dark spots where he had bashed his arm at the construction site a week ago. “What’s this?” Spike asked breathlessly, and “Just work stuff,” Xander breathlessly replied. They were both whispering. With Spike on his knees, it felt as if they were conspiring to do something forbidden in a holy place, to make love in a church. “Perfect” Spike whispered. He took Xander’s hand and showed him what to do, (and could it always be just like this? Could Spike just follow him for the rest of life, holding his hands, showing him what to do?)  
  
In the center of Xander’s all ready-bruised-bicep, they made the small cuts together. “Here it comes,” Spike whispered, his lips trembling. “Hang on, love.”  
  
When Spike went down on the wound a jolt went through Xander’s body. He clenched his fists, not in anger but only to hide his fingers. His hands were throbbing with heat and he knew how they would feel on Spike’s cool, white, naked skin. His right fist was under Spike’s ribs (don’t touch don’t touch him don’t touch) and his left was practically tucked behind his back (can’t caress the Vampire if I’m hiding back here, nope nope nope!) He felt desperate and ashamed and defeated and out-of-control. In other words, he felt exactly like a confused teenager, his head full of Buffy Summers, begging his hands not to stray under the covers to his swollen penis and give him some secret, shameful release.  
  
In those days, in every case, his hands won.  
  
This time, his blood won. It was pumping frantically in his veins and trickling calmly into Spike’s healing body and nothing seemed more right in the whole world. Spike was moaning and clutching at Xander like a drowning man once again, and, why the hell not?? Xander decided to clutch back.  
  
He curled his right arm under Spike’s torso, his hand deliciously spreading and stroking Spike’s smooth side, pulling him closer. As the Vampire clung to and fed from his upper arm, Xander wrapped his other arm around him, finally sliding off the chair and onto his own knees. His face was buried in the Vampire’s hair. They knelt together like that, as if in prayer, and anyone entering the crypt (and why were they up here, so exposed? They should be down inside the earth where it was safer, more secluded) might mistake them for two friends comforting each other after a devastating loss.  
  
But there was no loss here – only Spike getting stronger and Xander, well….  
  
….Xander was soaring, riding high on a tide of pure, prickly sensation. His body felt rock-hard and every hair on his entire body had risen – even the gooseflesh on his arms felt painfully ridged. His skin was tingling in a delicious way, but at the same time strange pains were wracking his chest and his ribcage, and his forehead felt tied up in permanent knots. He was painfully aware of Spike’s skin on his, aware of every moan the Vampire made, aware of every movement. He threw back his head, sucking in a lungful of air and then found himself suddenly, solidly unable to exhale, waiting in painful expectation, waiting, waiting, while his heart thundered on until…..until….  
  
…..until Spike released him with an audible gasp. They both fell – Xander back against the chair and Spike into his embrace, both panting for air. The illusion was over. Spike dug his thumb into Xander’s bicep and suddenly, painfully, Xander was right back in reality again.  
  
Reality.  
  
Reality was him kneeling half-naked in a cold crypt with a cold, half-naked Vampire in his arms, and both of them were as winded as if they had been fucking like bunnies. This was weirder than weirder than weird. Even WeirdWorld had his limits.  
  
“What the hell, Spike? What the _hell_?? Xander gasped, crab-walking backwards into the chair again, wondering if his heart was going to explode (and that would be good, then he would be dead and away from this insanity.) “It’s the bloodclaim, love, don’t fight it,” Spike was panting, whispering, as took up his position again, kneeling in front of Xander. He peeled Xander’s shoe from his right foot. “It’s just your blood in _you_ talking to your blood in _me._ I feel it too, love, just let it happen. Let it happen.” He had taken the pocketknife and making quick incisions on the top of Xander’s foot.  
  
The room was spinning so badly Xander didn’t even notice the pain. Before he had even caught his breath Spike had curled over the foot cradled (lovingly, worshipfully) in his strong hands. “Here it comes, love” he whispered and then Spike’s mouth was on him, his hunger calling out to Xander’s pounding heart.  
  
But this was good, good, yes, very good. His heart was pounding, hammering behind aching ribs, but it felt strong. It felt heroic, like he could tear down walls with his own bare hands. Even better, Spike was way down there (reverently worshiping at his feet like a saint at the foot of Jesus, enraptured in some sensual communion and that thought HAD to be breaking a commandment?!?) safely far away and very removed from Xander’s huge and completely undeniable erection. No bumping into Spike’s chin tonight, folks, oh no, not for very- hetero-ok-except-for-that-one-night-with-Larry-but-just-because-the-world-was-ending Alexander Harris. Absolutely no cock/face action for Mr. “I dated and cheated on Cordelia Chase How’s THAT for Hetero??” Harris, nope, not at all.  
  
(Because it was that AMAZING thought that had sent him over the edge on two seperate times [ok three if you count the one in the shower] he had jerked himself off only thinking of his chin – the way the dripping head of his swollen cock had pressed into Spike’s chin over and over again, and how the Vampire didn’t even seem to mind.)  
  
And now it was happening again – the pressure was building, the threat of a violent orgasm, and it was GOOD the Vampire was kneeling at his feet and completely unaware of the storm brewing underneath the tight denim…..  
  
………..and then Spike reached up with one hand to grasp his thigh, and Xander instantaneously came in his pants.  
  
He screamed out wordlessly, then yelped “Stop, stop STOP!” while kicking violently, unintentionally launching Spike a few feet away where he landed on his ass. “SHIT, Spike, “ he squeaked, “what the FUCK have you done to me?!?” He pulled up his legs, crawling into the chair, trying to crawl INTO the chair, or possibly into some crack in the wall where he could hide in the darkness and forget what had just happened. He buried his head in his arms and gasped for air, barely aware that he was crying. He was most certainly on the edge of hyperventilating.  
  
Then Spike was kneeling beside him again. He cringed away from Spike’s hands on his legs, on his knees, trying to rub and sooth and caress his embarrassment away, but that hardly worked since Spike was *touching* him, and wasn’t that the problem? Spike was *caressing* him, panting “Don’t take on so, love, it’s all right, I feel it too. I feel it too, it’s just the bloodclaim…”  
  
“It’s just the crazy Vampire sex-magic you’ve hexed me with” Xander screamed at him. “This is some kind of obscene spell, I can’t stop THINKING about you, I can’t stop WANTING you, I can’t stop jerking off, and I can’t stop thinking **you KNOW about it.** Is this what you do? Is this what Vampires _do_ to people?”  
  
A strange, startled look came into his bruised face, and Spike was suddenly silent.  
  
Breathing heavily, Xander stared back. But when he put his feet down back on the floor he felt them growing wet, and when he looked down he realized why. “Your making a mess, love,” said Spike calmly, and took the foot in his hands, pinching the wound hard with one thumb for a moment, expertly cutting off the blood flow.  
  
“You’ve done this before.”  
  
“No, pet, I…..”  
  
“NO.” Xander jerked his foot out of Spike’s hand and sat upright. There was blood on Spike’s hands and on the floor, but the Vampire didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were closed and he didn’t raise his head.  
  
Xander he waited until he could breathe again before he spoke. He was tired of squeaking. He needed his manly, Scooby-gang, I-kill-six-vamps-before-breakfast voice now.  
  
“You’ve done this lots of times. You know exactly how many times to do it and how to stop the bleeding. Did you know this would put a whammy on me?” Silence. “DID YOU KNOW??”  
  
“No, pet, I…”  
  
“But you’ve DONE this before…..this is some kind of ……Vampire thrall thing and you’ve DONE IT before. You know where the veins are, and you know how many times before you make me …..WHAT did you DO to me?”  
  
“Pet…”  
  
“Did you know this would happen?”  
  
“Look, I wasn’t the one who came here suggesting…..”  
  
“What did you DO to me?”  
  
“YOU came to ME, Harris!”  
  
“But YOU KNEW it would happen!”  
  
“But I DIDN’T THINK YOU WOULD **COME BACK!!** ”  
  
A deadly silence filled the echoing crypt.  
  
“It would never have happened to us if you _didn’t come BACK.”_  
  
Spike’s teeth were clenched and his eyes were pleading, and Xander wondered if he would ever breathe again.  
  
Slowly, slowly, he sat back in the old chair and closed his eyes. If he kept his eyes closed he could hide from everything, not think about Spike’s pained, pleading expression and his worrying hands and not think about anything that had happened or was happening or going to happen between….  
  
“Us?” Xander’s eyes flew open and found he could hardly speak. “What? What’s going to happen to us?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“YOUR LYING. What’s going to HAPPEN to us?”  
  
“Nothing’s GOING to happen, Harris! It’s all ready happen _ing_. It’s all ready _done._  
  
“Your blood’s **claimed** me. You’re feeding me and you’re healing me and you’re taking _my dreams from me._ Everything you’ve been feeling is MINE. You’re feeling ME. You’re feeling that hot life inside of me and hearing that delicious heartbeat and hearing all the wanting that’s gotten inside my head. You’re healing my body and I _can’t get you out of my **brain.**_ ”  
  
Xander groaned. He slumped forward. Spike caught his head by the curling his cool hand around the back of his neck and holding tight. Spike pulled him close. “You’re in HERE, pet,” he said, using Xander’s forehead to indicate his own head. “You’re inside of me and I’m inside of you. Our blood’s all tangled up. That’s why our bodies are calling to each other.”  
  
“How long ……” He swallowed hard and started again. “How long will it last?”  
  
“It’s _nothing_ , pet. It’s nothing at all. As long as you keep feeding me we’ll feel it, but as soon as you get sick of me and stop it will all go away. You get knocked around, or knock someone else around, go fight some battle, go get a good kick of adrenaline through your system and you’ll be _all clean_ again. All gone. No worries, love.”  
  
He let Xander go. “I just…. I just have to stop feeding you?” The Vampire nodded.  
  
“All right.” Xander rose, shaking, from the chair, stumbling around Spike, trying to sound as calm as possible. “Good. Good, then, I’ll stop. We’re all done, here. I’ll just….” He picked up his shirt from the pile of clothing and put it on as casually as possible. “You’re all healed up (he looked at the damaged Vampire, then quickly looked away) and you don’t need me anymore. All good. I’ll just be going then.”  
  
“Put ice on the bruises” Spike was saying in a dull voice. He was still kneeling in front of the chair, his back to Xander, his head bowed. “Drink lots of liquids and be sure to eat….”  
  
“Not necessary, I won’t be back. I’m done here. I’ll be going. I’ll see you ….. you know…. whenever. If the world ends, and all…..I’ll….”  
  
He looked back again. Spike was still kneeling before the empty chair, as if venerating the place where Xander had been. His head was in his hands.  
  
“Yeah,” Xander said, and went home.  
  
He was half-way through the cemetery before he even realized he was only wearing one shoe.


	10. Spander Fantasies

At home in the dark (resisting the urge to light candles, two to be specific, just like the first time he was with Spike) Xander examined himself in the mirror. He was a mess – hollow-eyed, pasty-skinned. He hadn’t shaved or brushed his teeth in a week (but he was clean as a whistle from constant showering!) But more than anything, he just couldn’t reconcile the man he saw in the mirror with the man he kept seeing in his head.  
  
He had felt so awkward and gawky as a high-school student. It was Larry, really, who had first convinced him what a sexy figure he cut in a bathing suit – Larry who had convinced him, for a short time, that he was quite a catch. But Larry was dead, and something strange had happened between the days of Larry’s catch and Anya’s main squeeze. Xander had grown up, filled out. He was heavier now, which was nice when throwing a punch, but not so nice when looking in the mirror after a shower. His long and lean days seemed to be over, which hardly seemed fair, since he hardly had time to enjoy them.  
  
But in these insane fantasies howling like ghosts in his head, he was dead sexy.  
  
 **  
 _You’re taking my dreams from me._  
**  
  
But that was ridiculous. Xander was dreaming about **Spike** , so unless Spike was dreaming about Spike, it just didn’t make sense. Every time Xander closed his eyes, he saw _Spike_ ….  
  
…….well, to be fair, he saw Spike and himself. Together. Usually in an undressed state. And when he closed his eyes, the man he saw in the Vampire’s bed was a hell of a lot sexier than the guy standing in front of him. In his own pre-Spike fantasies, well, he just normally wasn’t that vain……was this what _Spike_ saw in _his_ mind? When Spike closed _his_ eyes, what did he see?  
  
 **  
 _You’re hearing all the wanting that’s gotten inside my head._  
**  
  
Xander examined his wounds in the mirror. He could remember making each one, together, Spike’s hand on his. Four random diagonal lines, the third one crossing the other three. But they weren’t _really_ random – three forward slashes, then one straight line always connecting all three, turning the first two lines into a sharp S, and the second line into, sort of, a crooked X.  
  
S and X? Had Spike been writing “sex” into his body, over and over again?  
  
Xander examined the wounds with dismay. Some were healing, some not. Many were still bruised, and the worst of them, when touched, sent a thrill through his body that went straight to his groin. The third-bite wounds were by far the worst – the one Spike had made right above his boxers, the one on his foot. Just putting on shoes had become embarrassingly erotic.  
  
 **  
 _Everything you’ve been feeling is MINE. You’re feeling ME._  
**  
  
There was something fundamental that Xander had missed, something that Spike said the very first time.  
  
 **  
 _It’s_ supposed _to feel good. I feel it too._  
**  
  
That gave Xander pause. “ _I feel it too_ ” Spike had said. That first night……Xander had tried so hard NOT to think about it, he had forgotten. Spike *had* warned him, sort of. Had told him to hold on for the ride. Said it was supposed to feel good (although the word “good” hardly summed up the experience. It was like describing a hurricane with the word “wet.”) Said “It’s _supposed_ to feel good, I feel it too.”  
  
 **  
 _I feel it too._  
**  
  
Xander shuttered and closed his eyes hard. Spike was OBVIOUSLY feeling good, with the panting, the whispering, the begging. He had been so desperate that the Vampire NOT know how he was feeling, he hadn’t noticed how the Vampire felt.  
  
And how WOULD Spike feel? Maybe his ribs aching, his puncture wound itching, his brow creased with bruises, exhausted, distracted and horny as hell?  
  
There had to be a way to find out.  
  
When morning came and Anya had left for the Magic Box, Xander made the bed and sat in the middle with his legs crossed, in a meditative position, or at least, a position he assumed was necessary to meditate in. He closed his eyes and tried to think about breathing, knowing that this, too, was a meditation thing.  
  
But there wasn’t much to think about when it came to breathing, since it was the sort of thing you did everyday without much thought. “Spiiiiiiiiiiiiiike, Spiiiiiiiiiike,” he tried to hum. Finally, feeling stupid, he gave up and fell back on the bed in defeat.  
  
Then, on second thought, scooted to the left side of the bed, laying on his side, slightly curled, remembering how Spike had been laying down the second time he saw him, laying, fully clothed, looking frighteningly weak and vulnerable. Xander took the same position, and waited.  
  
But waiting for what? He already knew exactly how Spike had felt. The aching ribs, the puncture wound on his right side just above the nipple, itching all the way through his torso to the other side, of course, because the _puncture wound_ went all the way through, and both the entrance and exit wound were healing. And he was cold, too, but it was a good feeling, because being under the cold, wet ground was the safest place in the world. Safe from the sun, safe from the fight, safe from sodding bints who said they were gods crushing your bones until you make them angry enough to break your bonds for you. Safe from young, healthy men who offered you their blood willingly, but if they saw how their heartbeat and their bodyheat and their physical strength gave you such a raging hard-on they’d stake you in a second and wipe the dust off their coats without a second thought.  
  
Xander’s eyes flew open (but drifted closed again, he was getting sleepy.)  
  
When Spike had drank from the wound they made right under the waistband of Xander’s jeans, Spike’s chest was laying against his legs, but his lower body was not. His feet were on the floor, his obvious arousal hidden against the bed itself.  
  
When Spike had drank from the wound he had made himself on Xander’s side, with Xander napping face-down, his bare chest was laying on Xander’s back, but his feet were also on the floor, again, using the bed to shield himself.  
  
And when Spike had made the third bite way far away on Xander’s distant foot, he was completely curled up. Concealed, concealing. Because Xander was only a temporary ally, and that only because of what Spike had done for Dawn. The boy was strong and fearless and steadfastly loyal to Buffy, who still considered Spike a loathsome object, and that boy could turn on him in an instant. In his battered state, weakened in the body from the beating and in the mind from the bloodclaim, Spike would not be able to run. Wouldn’t want to. Hiding his desire from the boy was an important part of staying alive.  
  
And if his whole body became alert when the boy entered the room, if every inch of his skin was aching to touch Xander’s skin and his mouth watering for the taste of him, if his jeans were threatening to burst because his rebellious cock was trying to raise a salute, well, in the darkness lit by only two candles, Xander probably wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t stake him, wouldn’t walk away shaking the dust off his shoes.  
  
“Spike.” Xander sat up suddenly, clutching the bedcovers, the pillows, the wall. He was in his own bed, in his own apartment, “Spike, I didn’t know, I couldn’t…..”  
  
He lay back. Tonight. He would go to Spike tonight. But now he felt himself drifting away, and that was a good thing. Solid sleep he needed badly. And whatever strange dreams flickered through his head they caused him no discomfort, no matter how strange or fantastical or lurid they were. “Are you a Spike-dream? Or a Xander-dream? Or something both, a Spander-dream?” That was a funny word; Spander-dream. It made Xander smile as he drifted off to sleep.  
  
Xander slept straight through until that evening, waking only occasionally to drink copious amounts of water, pee, then crawl back into bed. Once he even woke up enough to take one of every vitamin in the medicine cabinet, grinning, knowing Spike would be happy. He had no more intruding thoughts – no longer trying to hide from strange images made them less insistent. Now, whenever a bizarre fantasy started, his mind went back to his plan:  
  
Because he had to talk to Spike, actually _talk_ , and find out what exactly a bloodclaim entailed. But he had to get that message to Spike without actually seeing Spike, since each time he saw Spike he forgot what he was going to say. Sadly Spike had no answering machine or e-mail address, so face-to-not-face conversation was an issue. He would write a letter, but how to deliver it? Tape it to the door? Send it in as a paper airplane?  
  
The details he would work out later. But every time he drifted off to sleep he wrote the letter in his head, knowing exactly what it would say.  
  
Ten hours later, awake and refreshed, Xander found pencil and paper and wrote it down. The letter seemed to write itself, with very little thought from him.  
  
But when he finished and had read what he had written, written almost automatically, without thinking, he shivered. He crumpled the paper and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans. He stood up and abruptly left the room.  
  
He had clearly lost his mind, and he had to find Spike. Spike was the answer.  
  


  
_Dear Spike, I have to talk to you._   
_I need to **talk** to you, but every time I get near you_   
_I forget **how** how to talk, which is why I am writing this letter._   
_When you get this, please know_   
_we need to **talk** first. You have to tell me everything you know_   
_about this bloodclaim thing,_   
_and why it’s hitting you so hard,_   
_and how to make it stop frying my brain._   
_But after we talk, I’ll stay._   
_I won’t leave this time. I’m not afraid._   
_I guess I’m embarrassed, but I’ll try not to be. I’ll stay for you._   
_You’ve been in too much pain. We’ve all been in too much pain._   
_It’s time for the pain to stop._   
_I won’t hurt you again._


	11. Chapter 11 --  The Joss Whedon Ending (Alternate)

#  Xander entered Spike’s crypt, a six-pack of beer in one hand, a strangely poetic note in his pocket, a whistle on his lips, and song in his heart. He had whistled all the way across the graveyard, and was whistling as he pushed open the heavy crypt door.

  
He found Buffy inside, holding a broom and dustpan, sadly sweeping.

“What….why……what?” Xander blathered, as Buffy explained her perfectly reasonable reasons for Dusting Spike.

Xander fell to his knees and dissolved into tears. Spike! Spike would never read the note, never know what Xander had come to say to him, never know he had no reason to be afraid, never know, never know. And Xander would never be happy again.

The tragedy was complete, the world went black, and a single white word appeared, and the word meant “sadness.”

The End   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just kidding. 
> 
> But you can't deny - if Joss HAD written this, that IS how it would have ended.


	12. Chapter 11 --  The Real One -- Bloodclaim (Surrender)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only man Xander had been with was dead (well, Spike was dead too, but Larry was dead in the not-coming-back-to-demand-strange-humiliating-and-probably-painful-sex-acts way.) That was what had caused all the conflict in Xander’s head the night he went back to the crypt. 
> 
> He couldn’t deny that he wanted Spike. 
> 
> The problem was, what do to with him once he got him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know, Buffy, as a television show, ended at Season 7.
> 
> Season 8 was a graphic novel series. In it, Xander sports a sexy eyepatch and CONSTANTLY makes Nick Fury references.
> 
> There will be a BREIF reference to this season, and it will be the last one.
> 
> From there we return you to your regularly scheduled Season 5.

**Rating** : NC 17  
 **Warning** Bloodplay  
 **Summary:** ACH! THE SEX! It is here!!

\------------------------------------

_Just exactly when the feeding turned into straight-up sex was hard to say._   
  
_Years later, hundreds and hundreds of years later, in a world as different from Sunnydale as real life is from TV,as TV is different from a comic book, Xander Harris (the one they called Sir) stood atop a Scottish castle, grown-up drink in hand, looking over the moor, looking as dashing as possible with a Nick Fury pose, and contemplated his past._   
  
_Sunnydale had been so much simpler. It’s a crazy, mixed-up world we live in when those words would be in the same sentence, and yet it was true. Sunnydale HAD been simpler. And looking back on it now, the one they called Sir wondered why the hell he had been so reluctant in those days. He and Spike had shared fights, shared enemies, shared goals, even shared an apartment together, and even, for one horrible day, shared clothes. Why had it been such a leap to s hare each other’s bodies?_   
  
_As for feeding the wounded Vampire, looking back, it seemed the obvious solution. Certainly he hadn’t been the first one to keep a cooperative vampire around for muscle. And when said creature was harmed, patching him back up was an easy (and pleasurable) task. The Vampire was **hurt.** You **slash** , feed, and thus **comfort** him. **Hurt. Slash. Comfort.** It was a very easy formula. Why had it filled him with such dismay the first time? And why had he been so afraid of the intimacy that would, quite naturally, come after?_   
  
_Well, he had been younger, of course. Come to think of it, in those days he was still a virgin in that area. His experience with Larry hardly counted, since Xander had done all the receiving and Larry had done all the giving. Perhaps that had been the problem – the only man Xander had been with was dead (well, Spike was dead too, but Larry was dead in the not-coming-back-to-demand-strange-humiliating-and-probably-painful-sex-acts way.) That was what had caused all the conflict in Xander’s head the night he went back to the crypt. He couldn’t deny that he wanted Spike. The problem was, what do to with him once he got him?_   
  
_The one they called Sir smiled at the memory._

_*_ _* *_

Virgin Xander held a six pack of beer in front of him like a shield, the horrible note uncrumpled, folded, and tucked inside. The beer would make it clear, (if he forgot how to talk again) what he was coming for – just conversation. They would sit in front of Spike’s telly, share beers, and have a _conversation._ Talk about what was happening, who’s brain it was happening in, and what to do next. Xander’s lack of experience with men should come up in said conversation, which was making him VERY nervous, but so be it. Spike seemed to be in his head, (but Spike said Xander was in HIS head) and something, obviously, needed to be Done.  
  
Xander knocked on the crypt door, but was too jumpy to wait for an answer. When he entered he found Spike sitting in the dumpster-diver chair, wearing the same clothes as the night before, making Xander wonder if he had moved at all.  
  
When Spike saw him an overwhelming look of gratitude came over his face, but his look became serious as he stood and met Xander in the middle of the room. His voice was low and full of concern. “You can’t come every night, love. It’s not good for you.”  
  
Mouth dry, lungs without air, Xander weakly gestured with the six pack. “Came to talk,” he managed, and Spike nodded. He took the beers and put them on the ground, agreeing, in all sincerity, “Sure…..yeah.” as he began to unbutton Xander’s shirt from the middle.  
  
“We just need to have a conversation” Xander was saying, as he lifted Spike’s rumpled shirt off of his body, loving the way the Vampire raised his arms like a little child, loving the way the two shirts would lay on the floor in a pile of perfectly normal laundry. Why had he waited so long to come here? What had he been thinking?  
  
OH YES …. the link between him and Spike. He grabbed Spike’s right arm and spun him around, more abruptly than he intended (Spike stiffened but didn’t fight the move) to look at the Vampire’s back. “It goes all the way through,” he hissed, putting his hand on the scar, “I KNEW it….that _bitch._ ”  
  
“It’s all good, love,” Spike was saying, sounding breathless, trying to push Xander’s shirt off of his shoulders. “It’s all healed, only….”  
  
“It itches like hell,” Xander finished for him. He turned Spike back around and gave him a long look. He didn't speak until he was holding Spike’s face in both hands, forehead touching forehead. “Spike, what the fuck are we ….” but he had to move his hands, because Spike was insistent on taking off the shirt. He was examining Xander’s healing wounds, and his bruised forehead showed his obvious unhappiness at what he saw. “Love, I told you to put ice on these,” he said, stroking the tender mark on Xander’s upper arm. “I CAN’T,” Xander whispered back. “They’re too sensitive, and they’re getting obvious. Anya’s asking questions.”  
  
Spike pulled back a moment, looking into Xander’s eyes. He seemed to decide on something, and he smiled a wicked smile.  
  
“There’s a cure for that, you know.” Giving Xander a _look_ , he turned and headed into the lower part of the crypt.  
  
Xander followed.  
  
After a look like that, Xander would have followed him anywhere.

  
  
\--------------

  
  
Descending into the lower part of the crypt in complete darkness, he began to lose his nerve. Then he heard the click of a lighter. Spike was lighting the candles.  
  
But just two. The same as the first time they had been together.  
  
Filled with emotion, Xander crossed the floor in two quick strides, grabbing Spike by the back of the head and, pulling his head backwards (just like in the fantasy) and kissing him hard on the mouth.  
  
Spike stood passively at first, his hands hanging limply at his sides. Then he began to kiss back, and fiercely, putting his hands on Xander’s shoulders and standing on tip-toes, trying to make himself as tall as the boy, leaning into his body. They kissed that way for several minutes, until Spike finally leaned his head back into Xander’s hand, lowering himself. When Xander opened his eyes, the Vampire wore an evil grin. “I was hoping you’d do that,” he said, then, with that _look_ , he took Xander’s hand in his own and turned toward the bed.  
  
Again, as before, Spike lowered himself onto the bed and Xander lowered himself onto Spike, holding his gaze, wondering what the hell he would do next. But Spike, obviously, had plans.  
  
Reaching onto the side table, the one Xander had seen in his dreams, the Vampire presented him with an ivory-handled knife. Xander sat up to examine the familiar object – a carving of a naked woman’s torso. In his dreams he had seen Spike’s thumb placed directly between the tiny figure’s breasts.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“It’s an athame, Red should have told you that. Every witch has to have two knives – one black-handled knife for cutting the mundane things, like wax and ribbon and bits of hair. But the athame can only be used,”  
  
“……..to plunge into the holy chalice,” Xander continued, almost blushing, as he WAS quoting from a secret, shameful fantasy, one that he hadn’t quite understood. Now, as Spike held his gaze, comprehension was dawning.  
  
Spike cut his skin in the exact center of his breastbone, three diagonal lines and a fourth one to connect them all. Blood drops formed around the incisions like black pearls.  
  
Xander turned his head. It felt as if all the air and gone out of his body. “Won’t…..won’t this just make the bloodclaim worse?” But Spike laughed. “It doesn’t GET worse than this love, trust me. Last night, when we both came in our britches like a couple of horny schoolboys? Believe me, it won’t ever be that bad again.”  
  
“Good,” Xander was saying, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved. He made a move towards the wound on Spike’s chest, then blanched and turned aside.  
  
Spike scoffed. “Humans, you’re so squeamish” he said, touching the cut with finger, catching some of the blood on the tip. “But slice open your finger and where’s the FIRST place you put it?”  
  
Xander took Spike’s finger into his mouth quickly, before he could think, sucking on it gently. It tasted no better and no worse than when he did the same with his own cut finger. Spike did the same with the second and third fingers and Xander, trying to keep his eyes closed, went down on the fingers eagerly – it was easy to do. He caressed them with his tongue in (he hoped) a sensuous manner, hoping, perhaps, to distract the Vampire from the crazy thing he was suggesting, but Spike was adamant.  
  
“It’s all right, mate. It will heal all your wounds, it’ll make you strong, trust me. Just a bit, that’s all it takes.”  
  
Drops of blood were falling down his chest now, leaving trails of vivid red on white. Xander took a deep breath, screwed up his face, then, remembering how good SPIKE’S tongue had felt on HIM, lapped up one crimson trail.  
  
Spike moaned and arched his back, making it easier for Xander to repeat the action again. It tasted no better and no worse than having his own mouth fill with blood in a fight, minus, of course, the aching jaw or the rattled teeth. Finally, knowing how badly the pale man wanted it, he worked up the courage to put his mouth down directly on the wound…..  
  
………and felt his head roaring in a violent tide of images and emotions. He was cold and weak and walking through the streets of Victorian England, mouthing poetic words that sounded so sweet when he had first spoken them, but seemed so abhorrent written on paper. He was hard and strong and utterly devoted to a mad woman who was saying they should still be friends. He was in a sick, sad dance with a robot who had finally come to the end of the program, the final surrender, but had ruined it by announcing the program would start again, and he was just coming to the hard and icy truth – he had her body, and her body was not what he wanted. Now he was in overwhelming agony, the pain held at bay only because he could still rile up the goddess of bad home perms….laughing at her minions who were promising the wrecked body of Bob Barker.  
  
The insane wave ended with an audible pop as Xander pushed himself away from Spike’s body and collapsed on the bed beside him, struggling for air. He lay limply, almost unable to move, when Spike pounced on him, whipping off his belt and taking down his pants. The first bite was the mark just above the strap of his boxers, which Spike fell on with a vengeance, with Xander finding he could hardly move at all.  
  
But by the second bite, (on the wound in the center of his chest) his skin caught on fire and he was mobile again. Brazenly he arched his back, pressing his growing erection into Spike’s hard stomach. Spike groaned in approval and lay his whole body directly on top of Xander’s, snuggling his own erection in-between Xander’s legs. They writhed together as Xander’s body tingled from head to toe. Spike’s arms were greedily wrapped around him.  
  
Too soon it seemed, the Vampire pulled away, and Xander sat up on his elbows to look into Spike’s pleading eyes. Their heads came together and Spike’s lips were against his, and when he spoke, his voice was trembling. “Third bite, love. _Please_ don’t stop me this time….. I think my brain will explode if you make me stop.” “I won’t,” Xander promised, cupping his cheek. “Just lay back, try not to…..don’t be embarrassed. Just try to relax. Let it happen.” Xander nodded breathlessly, and, laying back he found that he, too, was shaking uncontrollably.  
  
But when Spike drew back all the way to the wound on Xander’s foot, the shaking stopped. He drew his foot, and thus Spike, towards him then reached out for the cold arms and pulled him closer. “I don’t want you so far away,” he said and, keeping their eyes locked he unbuttoned and shimmied out of his pants, and spread his legs.  
  
Spike dropped his eyes, looking in amazement over Xander’s boxers. “Are you sure, pet?’ and Xander, not sure at all, only nodded.  
  
Gently, Spike took the athame in one hand, then, using both hands, pushed Xander’s boxers, (and his manly bits) to one side as he examined the vein there in the innermost part of his thigh. Spike looked back to him, “This will hurt, love.” Wordlessly Xander gave him his hand, and together, they made two tiny cuts across the vein.  
  
Xander clenched his teeth against the pain, then kept his eyes closed as Spike tried to find a comfortable position to feed, first laying his head on the wound and standing on the floor, then laying on top of Xander, upside down. Finally he lay his body to one side of Xander’s body, with Xander’s arms around Spike’s legs in an awkward hug, gripping him tight. As the hammering of his heart became deafening he lifted up his knees, spreading them apart to give Spike better access to the wound, then brought his thighs back together, shamelessly pressing his hard-on into Spike’s face. Spike moaned in approval, using his hands to hug Xander’s thighs against his head, then letting them creeping under Xander’s boxers, cupping his ass. Now they were both rhythmically moving against each other, and the growing sensation in Xander’s scrotum seemed perfectly rational, and knowing Spike _knew_ just made it all the more reasonable.  
  
Never had he had such a practical orgasm before.  
  
Nor so anticipated…just before his moment Spike’s hand slipped into his boxers and caught him up in his hand, catching the moment, catching the fluid, catching the taste of him. While Xander lay back, panting, Spike devoured the precious drops lacing his hand.  
  
Then, suddenly, Xander found himself picked up and thrown onto his stomach, held down by an iron arm across his shoulders, pinned down mercilessly while Spike jerked off, coming across his skin, sending chills down his spine as the chilly fluid rested in the small of his naked back.  
  
Then Spike was gone, curled up on the other side of the bed.  
  
Silence filled the crypt, marred only by Xander struggling for air. Then another sound emerged; a quiet, irregular sound. Xander turned his head and looked for the Vampire in the darkness. Finally he realized why he recognized the sound. The Vampire was sobbing.  
  
He turned Spike around and drew him into an embrace. Spike did not resist, but his head was bowed and his eyes tightly shut. Xander molded the other man’s body against his own, even linking a leg around him to bring him closer; rocking, shushing, caressing, trying to reassure. “Don’t take on so, love,” was the best he could managed, but in time the clinging Vampire grew quiet.  
  
“My god,” he said, kissing the wet face, kissing away the tears. “Is it supposed to be this intense?”  
  
“No,” Spike whispered, before taking in a shaking breath. “Well, for you, yes. But not for me. But I was hurting so *badly* when you came. I was in pieces. Part of me,” here he took Xander’s hand and placed it on his lower ribcage, “this part of me was just _rotting._ But you came. You healed me. All this skin here,” he moved Xander’s hand to show him, “and these ribs, and all this part of the lung what was ripped up, this is all because of _you._ They grew back because of _you._  
  
“Now your heart, it’s still beating, so it gives me power. And it calls out to my body, that’s why you come t’check on it, see? To see if it’s doin’ well. And my body calls to you, it’s _aching_ for you. It’s just _longing._ And it hurts.”  
  
“So…..you’re lusting for me with your ribcage?” Xander asked, but Spike didn’t seem to think it was amusing.  
  
Xander caressed the newly-healed flesh with pride and concern; pride because it was all there, intact, through some kind of magic he didn’t understand, and concern because the Vampire seemed to be in such misery. “What would have happened if I hadn’t come back the second time?” “Dunno, would’ve lived, I guess. I was doing alright.”  
  
So it was a Xander mistake, once again. Surprised, anyone? He pulled away from Spike, from his responsibility, and lay on his back, head turned away. “It is my fault then. I shouldn’t have come back the second time. I’m sorry. I screwed it up.”  
  
There was silence for a moment, then Spike, cat-like, came back for more affection. “Did you, now?” he asked, laying his arm across Xander’s chest, resuming the embrace. He pulled Xander’s face over for a kiss on the jaw. “You’re in the middle of a war. You _were_ one man down, you got one man _up_ ,” here he rubbed against Xander suggestively, causing him to grin. “And what did it cost you? A few sleepless nights, some strange thoughts haunting your head, some bad dreams?”  
  
“They weren’t _all_ bad,” Xander admitted, turning back to his lover, enjoying soft, cool kisses along his jawline, a cool hand cupping his face, cool fingers stroking his hair. Softly Spike moved himself on top again, kissing eyes and lips and throat, licking, nibbling.  
  
“Wait, wait, before you do that, there was something I was going to ask you.” Xander managed to push the amorous Vampire away a few inches, only to look into shining blue eyes and forget what he was going to say.  
  
“Oh…..OH I remember,” he said, now wrestling with his lover completely content on covering his chest with kisses, “I need to know…..those crazy fantasies that I keep finding in my brain, are you saying those came from you?”  
  
“The HOT ones were mine, I don’t know about the crazy ones.” Spike was saying, now showing particular interest in biting the skin covering Xander’s ribs.  
  
“So, that long one where you were still living in my basement and you had nightmares,”  
  
Spike froze, and his body went riged.  
  
“And you grew your hair out and wore reading glasses and did crossword puzzles?”  
  
With a loud moan, Spike threw himself to the other side of the bed, and as Xander continued to speak, he covered up his head and his face with both arms. “And you had nightmares and sucked your thumb in your sleep,” Spike moaned again, but the boy was enjoying himself way too much to stop. “And you got stabbed by an intruder and I think I bought you a bathing suit and we went to a waterpark….”  
  
“I will PERSONALLY perform EVERY move of the Vampiric Karma Sutra on you right now if you will PROMISE never to speak of this EVER AGAIN,” Spike called out from his hiding place beneath his arms, causing Xander indescribable pleasure. “Of course, Spike, whatever you say,” Xander grinned, rubbing the small of Spike’s back. He began to arch and purr, then started, then pounced on top of Xander and lunged for his neck, play-biting with his (human) teeth and covering Xander’s mouth with one hand.  
  
“OOO uumm um-om?” Xander asked, and Spike pulled up, sitting on him, and allowed him to talk.  
  
“And what about that long, drawn-out one where I’m a Jane Eyre-type orphan in some horrible school…..”  
  
Spike lunged, and buried his head into the pillow right next to Xander’s own. Xander wrapped his arms around the Vampire stroking him gently, whispering “And you were the mysterious Master of Thornfield,” (another moan from Spike) “and I was a lowly servant and searching Moor House for weird sounds at night, and even though you were married to some crazy chick you were trying to seduce me and I was trying to decide if that was even _possible…._ ”  
  
Another moan from Spike, which just prompted Xander to add "And all the religious people were hypocrites or so laid back they were falling over, but you were madly in love with me and when it was all over you said ' _together we are as free as in solitude, as gay as in company_ ' And after the fire....."  
  
“NOPE!” Spike said, sitting up suddenly with a smile. “That one’s all yours pet, and pretty poofter of you too, if you want my take on it…”  
  
Xander grinned. “You’re lying.”  
  
“Prove it.”  
  
“I have no fucking clue who Jane Eyre is.”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes, then dove into a full frontal assault on Xander’s ribcage, pulling the boy on top of him, biting and licking mercilessly, until Xander was yelping and begging him to stop. In time the Vampire showed mercy and allowed Xander to lay on his back, mounting him and covering his chest with kisses while stroking and fondling below the waist. One of the candles guttered and went out, and Xander closed his eyes in the darkness, wondering how best to ask the man on top of him to take him by the hand and bring him to orgasm once again…..preferably in some clever way that didn’t involve talking? But a stray thought distracted him as the head headed downward and the cold kisses worked their way lower….  
  
“Wait……what about the comic-book fantasy where I’m some awesome Storm God with sexy sunglasses and I can kill demons with my brain and you’re my faithful sidekick and you call me on the cellphone to warn me when a storm is coming…..  
  
The Vampire raised his head with an startled, incredulous look. Xander hoped the darkness was hiding his blush.  
  
“ _Kidding_ , obviously!” His lover shook his head and went back to his ministrations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike's fantasies can be read in detail here, in a lovely tender story called "Tiny Smiles."
> 
> http://www.sabershadowkat.com/buffy/XanSpike.html
> 
> This is the same place where you can find Xander's excellent fantasy, And Now For Something Different. These great stories are written by SaberShadowKat, who also wrote an EXCELLENT story called "The Dark Cavalier" that I wanted to mention, but I didn't think either boy could do it justice.
> 
> \-----------------------------
> 
> You have come to the end of PART 1 of Xander On The Menu. There will be more. So, so much more.

**Author's Note:**

> On Ao3, one does not leave constructive crit.
> 
> UNLESS THE AUTHOR ASKS FOR IT.
> 
> This is me asking for it. I welcome ALL comments, questions, AS WELL AS any proofreading notes.
> 
> Make a comment! I don't bite. Unless you ask.


End file.
